


magnum opus

by RiverKings, wholegrain



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha!Ahsoka, Alpha!Obi-Wan, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Everything May Change!!, F/F, F/M, M/M, Master/Servant, Not beta'd we die like men, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Power Dynamics, Rating May Change, Slavery, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Title May Change!, Warnings May Change, omega!Anakin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-29 14:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14474514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverKings/pseuds/RiverKings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholegrain/pseuds/wholegrain
Summary: A young man appeared at the Chancellor's side. Flowing dark fabric completely covered him, meant to protect Palpatine's property more than protect his own privacy. The fitness of his form was artfully suggested by purposefully-placed strands of jewelry—gold chains accented with blue stones. They stood out against the obsidian robes, small planets creating a galaxy across the young man. With one look into his heady eyes, there seemed to be a galaxy trapped within him as well.





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> bad fic? you hate it? despise it? 
> 
> unless you're a disney/lucasfilm lawyer, write me a nasty comment i feed off of it >:)
> 
> **you're reading a draft. all of this is subject to change when i'm not writing and edited at 2am. despite what the title suggests, this is not my magnum opus.**

Obi-Wan had never felt more strait-laced as the Temple younglings pegged him to be than when he stepped into the grand entryway of the Galaxies Opera House, swathed in conservative Jedi robes. Patrons swaggered and strutted around the mouth of the theater, with only their social status elevating them from "scantily clad" to "sophisticatedly dressed". Plunging necklines, dragging trains, every form of sentient being turned into living accessories. A towering, green Twi'lek scanned Obi-Wan from head to toe over her shoulder as a far heftier specimen of her species led her up the stairs. The Jedi pulled his robes around him, crossing his arms, and played the Council's instructions over again on his comm. The opera was to start soon—some Mon Calamari dribble that was sure to be a bore. But it was always expected that the opera patrons provide their own entertainment. The performance on stage was only the background for the dramas that played out in hundreds of private boxes. Political intrigue, simmering scandals, and of course the token Jedi affairs weaving between it all. Obi-Wan supposed it was his time to take up that role tonight. He strode up the red velveteen staircase, into the belly of the beast.

_64, 65..._

"66," Obi-Wan muttered, finally locating his designated box. He slipped in silently, unnoticed in the carnival of characters crowding the small space. Past the feathers and jingling robes he was surprised to spot the large Twi'lek he had seen earlier seated up front, his escort standing to the side with what Obi-Wan assumed to be the rest of her sort. It wasn't hard to pick them out, dressed like a flock of colorful Mantellian Flutterplumes that had pecked at him and Qui-Gon once on a mission to Alderaan. The Jedi huffed. Suiting that they should be dressed like birds, like the kept pets that they are. Omegas, all of them. In such a group the suppressants stood no chance of blocking their telltale sickly scent. With such a suffocating perfume surrounding them, Obi-Wan wondered why such strict anti-attachment rules were necessary for Jedi at all; it would bring him no greater joy than to forever evade the stench of a perfectly groomed Coruscanti Omega.

A darker scent commanded its way from the front rows to Obi-Wan, marking the presence of his own dynamic. Alphas. And among them his target, looking drowned in fine-pressed purple robes and wrinkled flesh.

"Chancellor Palpatine." The Jedi bowed deeply, lifting his eyes in the process to catch the politician's nod of acknowledgement. What could be considered a friendly smile in some systems only helped to highlight his aged features. 

"Master Kenobi, a pleasure, truly. It's not often I receive a Jedi guest these days." Over his shoulder the man gestured, dispersing their company toward the back end of the private box, still chattering away. The Twi'lek huffed and puffed his way to his feet, and, for all of his prior disdain, Obi-Wan felt sympathetic for the young Twi'lek Omega who probably heard similar grunts under more unsavory circumstances.

"My pet, come." Palpatine interrupted the Jedi's thoughts.

"P-pardon me, sir?" Obi-Wan hoped his noticeable stumble on his way to take a seat would be attributed to his long robes. Exactly  _what_  kind of mission had the Council sent him on now? The chancellor laughed.

"Stars, not you. The defiant Omega who has just decided to grace us with his presence," the older man chortled, more so to the new arrival than to Obi-Wan. A young man appeared at the Palpatine's side. Flowing dark fabric completely covered him, meant to protect Palpatine's property more than protect his privacy. The fitness of his form was artfully suggested by purposefully-placed strands of jewelry—gold chains accented with blue stones. They stood out against the obsidian robes, small planets creating a galaxy across the young man. With one look into his heady eyes, there seemed to be a galaxy trapped within him as well.

"Please excuse my dearest pet." Obi-Wan briefly acknowledged his disappointment at not getting a name for the Omega, who was now draping himself against the Chancellor's side. But the role of inanimate accessory didn't seem to come naturally to him; he made little attempt to hide his interest in the two's proceedings. The Jedi caught himself in his own vanity—

_Any sentient in the system would take the chance to find other entertainment at a Mon Calamari opera._

The aquatic creatures began their lulling dance as Obi-Wan set out to tread equally delicate waters.

"Chancellor, it is with no disrespect that the Jedi have remained distant. I myself haven't seen more than a holo of Master Yoda in the past months. This war in the name of unity has an ironic way of thinning durasteel bonds into threads."

"Do you mean to say that this war is wearing on your forces? Master Kenobi, what threads remain of the Jedi protect millions who suffer much worse fates."

 _Ah, yes. A deflection_ , Obi-Wan's hand found its way to his beard, running absentmindedly through it.  _No different than his emotional pandering to the Senate._

"Yes, our forces grow weak. But we believe the right action now is to negotiate peace, not to motion for the production of countless more clones. These funds could be spent on rations, on reconstructive efforts. Your citizens are starving. Even those in the Outer Rim are feeling the hunger of war. And hunger leads to clouded minds, clouded judgement."

"Hah! You would know much about clouding minds with you ways, Kenobi. And _you_ would know, more than a Coruscanti Jedi, that it takes more than a little destitution to break an Outer Rim planet" Palpatine stroked a finger under the young Omega's chin, lifting his gaze up from the performance and into Obi-Wan's. "Our Omega here hails from Korriban-"

"Tatooine." The Omega spoke, unsheathing a cutting look from Palpatine.

"Come again?" Obi-Wan interjected, earning himself the same glare.

"I hail from Tatooine." The young Omega's undaunted counter to his master's warning look put the Jedi at ease, momentarily.  _Either this Omega knows how much Palpatine can be pushed, or he simply likes pushing his own luck._

"You may dress them in silks and stones that could buy out an entire Hutt clan, but the Outer Rim scum will always find an out." Palpatine said without a pause, as if the same line had been uttered many a time in similar circumstances, most likely to a more receptive audience. He had leaned towards Obi-Wan, but made no effort to lower his voice.

"Chancellor, the Senate may be pervious to your diversions, but the Council did not send me here to discuss your...  _courtesan_."

"Him? A diversion? Perhaps to you, a Jedi. Omega, did you know the Jedi forbid bonds? Our Alpha guest here is clearly flustered by your presence."

"I beg your pardon-"

"Join him," the Chancellor sniggered before dealing out another blow. "What use is an Omega if they're not soothing their rightful masters?"

Truthfully more frustrated than frazzled, Obi-Wan continued to coax Palpatine into conducting peaceful summits with the remaining Separatist allies rather than succumb to the Senate's wish to create more clones. Then he felt heat settle against his left side. The Omega, and his endless robes. As the conversation drew on, Obi-Wan could've sworn that the boy was making a more valiant effort to "adorn" him than he had Palpatine. When he was practically draped like a second garment over the Jedi, Obi-Wan flinched as he felt a hand grip his shoulder.

 _Merely a reaction ingrained from months on the battlefield. Foreign touch almost exclusively means an enemy_ , Obi-Wan rationalized, speaking to himself as he would a youngling.

"Good, Anakin, good!" the older man chuckled. "For all of the fuss they cause, one cannot deny the intoxicating power of a refined Omega's touch. All the Cambian wine in the galaxy is no comparison."

"You were trembling," came a voice in his left ear. A voice that was not yet rid of adolescence. Force, not yet rid of its first real heat. "Master Jedi." The honorific soon followed his—Anakin's—observation, typical of a trained Omega. Even their spoken words must be marked with ownership. The same pity that he had felt for the Twi'lek arose within Obi-Wan.

The opera ended.

The negotiations had slowed to a standstill, but there was no shortage of provoking counterpoints to bring back to the Council. Obi-Wan gathered his thoughts as Palpatine gathered his Omega, placing him at his right arm. By the time the final farewells were exchanged, the final kisses and pecks placed by Omegas upon greedy patrons, a junker's speeder could have made it to the Outer Rim and back. The young man, Anakin, knelt into a bow, mocking a kiss at Obi-Wan's feet as was customary among such high-ranking social circles. As was customary, yes. But the act was nonetheless shocking.

"It sounds like the Jedi have more say in this matter than they've been letting on." Palpatine glanced over his shoulder as he left with the other patrons. Two guards immediately came to either side of him, escorting him. "I sense this isn't the last we'll be seeing of you in the near future. Goodnight, Master Kenobi."


	2. Development

The time between Obi-Wan's first meeting with Chancellor Palpatine stretched on, until two weeks had passed since the Jedi's briefing with the Council on the matters discussed the night of the opera. The Council had responded swiftly, peace ironically weighing heavily on their shoulders. Temple life proceeded as usual while Palpatine's response pended. Growing up, the Temple had always seemed quite empty to Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon's death was the final blow. He had not become an expert in meditation for nothing―the murder of his master, and the countless other deaths of his friends since the start of the Clone Wars, morbidly made for a perfectly silent life.

Obi-Wan never took a Padawan. He couldn't. Not in a time of war. He himself was nearing the end of his Padawan training when Qui-Gon was killed in front of his own eyes. With battle raging, Padawans the age of younglings were being sent out with their masters―their training was a trial by fire in the literal line of fire. One of the last living acquaintances from his youth, an Alpha named Plo Koon, had grown distant from him ever since he'd elected to train young Ahsoka Tano. He believed Obi-Wan's choice to be a selfish one. However, even if Obi-Wan had wanted to take a Padawan, none were available to him. All the current younglings in the Temple were Betas, and traditionally paired with their own dynamic. Even in the harmonious Jedi Temple, division reigned; Obi-Wan had often considered taking a Beta Padawan, simply to ruffle the robes of the Council.

The weathered young Jedi was meditating in his quarters when Master Windu's voice rang out over his comm.

"Kenobi, the Chancellor has sent correspondence."

"Odd that I haven't received the word yet," Obi-Wan remarked, standing up and readjusting his tunic.

"Perhaps because they're still waiting in the front hall."

"They?"

"It appears the Chancellor has sent over a more... personal message. An Omega accompanied by two Senate Guards. This is strange behavior―Palpatine is far too knowledgable about the Jedi to think that pandering to your dynamic would hold any sway in our negotiations."

"What makes you think he's pandering? Omega messengers aren't too uncommon."

"No, they're not. But ones dressed like this are."

There was a pause, short enough to break the thread of the current topic but not long enough to allow Obi-Wan's imagination to wander.

"I don't like any of this. And Senator Amidala has informed us that the Chancellor's inner circle have been expressing favor for some sort of weapon of mass destruction to bring an end to this war. I've sent Master Koon to Kamino to see to this matter personally. Report back with your own findings, Kenobi." The transmission disconnected.

Turning to leave, Obi-Wan decided to leave his outer robes in his room. He felt a creeping blush in his cheeks at the thought of walking around in enough clothes for himself _and_ the Omega. The Omega's dress―or lack of―of course, was a matter of Master Windu's opinion. "Practical" outfits for Omegas spanned a wide spectrum. In the domestic spheres of society, outfits akin to the Jedi's own underclothes were worn, done up with gold or silver pieces. For the lower ends of society these were often earrings, necklaces, bracelets―the remnants of courtship. The higher on the social ladder, the weightier the burden on an Omega's shoulders―quite literally. Edged out of their use around the home by help and Beta servants, they became living racks of jewelry. It was often hard for Obi-Wan to tell (much an outsider to Alpha priorities on Coruscant, having started suppressants as a younling) whether a well-bred Omega was a sign of an Alpha's wealth, or the stacks of jewelry heaped onto them, instead.

As he made his way closer to the front hall from his quarters, images of the Omega from the opera crept into Obi-Wan's mind―the robes off his back, leaving only the purposefully placed strands of jewelry to remain as his covering. Such "clothing" wouldn't be uncommon for the high level Anakin appeared to lounge at.

 _Anakin_ , Obi-Wan repeated to himself, enjoying the coarseness of an Outer Rim name against the graceful image of an ornamental Omega. Dychotemy was hard to find in the perfect balance of the Temple. Even something as natural as dynamics were polished down into nothingness―into sexlessness―from an early age. Obi-Wan could hardly recall what it was like to be an Alpha, if he had ever been one at all. Never having presented, he instead was poked and prodded by med droids, and given a strict regimine of Alpha hormone suppressants before being introduced to the younglings that would too quickly become his fellow soldiers.

As he grew older the suppressants weren't able to defeat biology completely. Aside from being of stockier statue than the Beta-aligned Jedi, Obi-Wan retained a sharp sensitivity to scent, as well as the ability to sense and respect the roles and ranks among the dynamics. Only once, though, had rut not only controlled him, but replaced him altogether. It was during a mission to Mandalore just a year after his appointment to the Council. A Beta by the name of Satine had been his guide―confident, poised, unbothered by her middling alignment position and unflinching in her duty to her people. Obi-Wan had become so thoroughly enamored with her that he didn't realize the Dutchess's absence in his life until he was on course for Coruscant, throbbingly wanton, pacing back and forth on the bridge, feeling as if he could sprint his way back to Satine if she so much as called his name. It didn't matter that he was systems away―he knew he would hear her. He could practically almost feel her.

It was a form of love―true love―that Obi-Wan had only known once else in his life. A connection so deep he wasn't aware of its presence until it was lightyears, or lifetimes, away from him.

Rounding the corner into the grand hall lined with towering columns, Obi-Wan instantly pinpointed the Omega and guards among the robed figures of Padawan and Jedi. Windu had been correct―even from a distance the shocking dress of the Omega―the _female_ Omega―was evident. A sheer dress flowed to the floor. Her small, pert breasts were uncovered, but what appeared to be a chain-link set of undergarments provided laughable privacy for her genetalia. The intricate, gold mail was studded with small, red gems.

Obi-Wan caught Padawan Tano's eyes scanning the Omega curiously, could feel her Force Signature solidify into something like enthrallment―thick and seeping down through her presence until she felt Obi-Wan's twinkling eye on her. Cheeks flushing, she hurried on sheepishly after her Master, off to what Obi-Wan assumed were the ships that would soon carry them to Kamino.

The guards stood back as the Omega knelt to the floor, mirroring Anakin's gesture of submission the night of the opera. Unlike him, though, she stayed level with a very particular portion of Obi-Wan's anatomy, looking up languidly at the Jedi through thick lashes. She was young, though not as young as Anakin had seemed. Her spine was prominent along the milky expanse of her back. After a moment of silence, Obi-Wan realized it was up to him to begin the conversation, another show of the Omega's well-trained submission.

"Omega, I've been informed that you carry a message from the Chancellor."

"The Chancellor has requested Master Kenobi's presence at his personal Festival of Life Gala, Sir."

"Please relay to the Chancellor, with all due respect the Council has waited too long for a period of courtesies and graces. Many citizens are approaching destitution while we discuss which method of ending the war will earn the  Republic the most money-" Obi-Wan's tone darkened, his pace quickened until suddenly:

"Master Kenobi will be pleased to attend the Chancellor's celebration, Omega."

The Jedi turned swiftly at the sound of Mace Windu's commanding voice over his shoulder. With a flick of his hand, the Councilor dismissed the Omega and guards. The young woman stood gracefully, showing no sign of discomfort after submitting against the cold stone floor. She kept her head lowered in reverence as she left, her small form soon completely eclipsed by the guards who flanked her.

  
"Master Windu, please tell me you don't agree with the Chancellor's negotiations?" Obi-Wan echoed angrily down the grand hall.

"I don't agree with the Chancellor's dealings, but in more ways than one. If the word going around is true, then the Chancellor along with his inner circle have taken matters into their own hands as to how to end the war. I don't like the idea of producing more clones, but I prefer it to the thought of rash, unkown decisions fracturing the Republic even more. The Council has appointed you to become close with the Chancellor, and it seems you've already done well at your task, seeing as he's invited you back again."

Turning to leave, the older Alpha folded his arms across his chest, broadening his already dominant silhouette. Subtle, but nonetheless a posturing to assert his instructions upon the younger Alpha.

"We expect you to report back to us immediately after Palpatine's gala. That will be all, Kenobi."

There was no tinge of worry in Windu's voice, but the urgency of his tone was a close equivalent for the steely Jedi. Resigned to follow the path that was unfolding, Obi-Wan's worries about the negotiations soon materialized into the form of Palpatine's preferred Omega. He wondered if the Omega's formless Gala robes would flow to match his nebulous eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOOOOO it's FILLER. even worse, filler that I wrote and posted at midnight. 
> 
> better stuff on the horizon
> 
> Also I really wanted the omega to be barriss but I'm not gonna try and re-edit all this on my phone. In the future the details will be changed!!


	3. cavatina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cavatina: the first, slower-paced section of a two part aria. 
> 
> or:
> 
> this fic is boring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in part by the illustrious jen (RiverKings)
> 
> no beta we die like men

The Clone Wars orbited Coruscant, turning the bustling, bureaucratic planet into the eye of the storm. Life seemed to stand stock-still, with all Coruscantis transfixed on the battle raging around them. Underneath this uneasy calm was an antsy Senate, pulsing like an anxious heart within a composed soldier's demeanor. Obi-Wan had barely noticed the passage of time. Temple life occupied him until he was snapped out of the tense tedium by a garish outfit laid out on his bed.

A few seconds more and he realized it wasn't the uniform he had hoped for. Before him was not his armor, but a crumple of conservative, ceremonial cloaks. 

_ The Chancellor's gala. _

He knew that the Council must have procured the garments specifically for the occasion; nothing like these robes was allowed in the Order … But if their intention was to help him blend in, Obi-Wan was sure his Jedi robes would be more discreet than this eons-old relic.

Instantly Obi-Wan felt ashamed that his vanity over _gala regalia_ outweighed his disappointment that they were not his battleground uniform. He wasn’t going into combat like his comrades. He was going to be fed better than they had in years, treated better than they had their entire lives. He was the Council’s earpiece, an accessory. He felt as useless as an omega. 

…

_ An ironic way to celebrate life _ , Obi-Wan scoffed.

Ancient senators and Coruscanti well-to-do's shuffled about with skin so manicured and unmoving it bordered on being kyber crystal… not to mention as old as the stone, as well. Fete Week was is full swing, but the only sign of life at the Festival of Life Gala was in the omegas flitting about in pearlescent shifts and gold chains accenting their arms, their torsos, their necks. Swallowed by the maw of the velveteen carpet, scattered white robes came together to create an uncanny, toothy grin.  _ Not unlike the Chancellor’s _ . The Jedi smiled himself. 

All in attendance had an omega at their side save Obi-Wan, furthering his outsider status. He might as well have been walking around with his lightsaber wielded. At the thought, his hand instinctively reached into his robes. It was a covertly compulsive gesture, but not lost on a young Togruta omega who was passing by with his master. His eyes widened before returning to the ground, mirroring Obi-Wan’s habitual gesture with his own ― his manicured fingers constricted coyly around his master’s arm. The older woman of his kind tugged her prize close to her side. The natural pattern of his montrals was gilded in gold flake.

The omega’s look had been somewhere between “glare” and “unaware” … In his eyes there was no fear or confusion, but rather the equivalent of a knowing nod. _ What does  _ he  _ know of the Jedi? _ Obi-Wan thought, pridefully defensive as a new padawan.

Omegas on Coruscant were bred much in the same way Kaminoans assembled their clones. They had no past. But Obi-Wan’s thoughts veered toward a topic he had avoided for days ― Anakin, the boy from Tatooine. Maybe the Togruta was a boy from somewhere, too. 

A processional pomp rang out in the atrium. Obi-Wan took this as cue to make his way into the main hall along with the other guests. He waded through a sea of round tables coming to life with dishes and debutantes. Palpatine was seated at the back of the dining hall, at the head of a long table. Its placement in the room was discreet, but domineering.

The Chancellor was being fussed over by a pecking order of omegas. Just visible from beneath the table were two human females, occupied with removing the Chancellor’s footwear, petting and massaging as they went. Kneeling on a cushion to his left was another omega, smoothing out his master’s robes. All three wore sheer, white shifts. Shadows were their only veil of modesty.

The blond Jedi took the scene in with a battle-trained tact. Then he shifted his gaze up to find not one pair of eyes, but two.

Orbiting above a set of waning, black pinpricks, two full moons seemed to force the entire table into their gravitational pull. The omega,  _ Anakin _ , swaggered back and forth behind the Chancellor once, twice. 

Displaying one’s best ornament was custom, but peacocking came off more like pacing when Anakin did it. The Jedi attributed it to his base origins. He lacked the finesse of even the lowest Coruscanti-bred pet. The manners of slumlords' omegas who doubled as their hitman could put the tanned youth to shame.  _ How old was he when he was _ … Obi-Wan paused.

Trained? Acquired? Gifted?

Sold?

The Chancellor raised a gnarled hand that shook under the weight of several rings. His immediate neighbors hushed. The omega paused, and perched himself on the right arm of his master’s chair. Obi-Wan wondered if he was allowed there by command or by compromise; such a symbolic position of power was not usually granted to a decoration. Inanimate objects weren’t supposed to have agency.

“Not here, my Star. You serve our distinguished guest tonight,” Palpatine acknowledged the Jedi with a respectful nod.

Obi-Wan glanced at an empty place setting several seats down from the Chancellor. The distance was no doubt meant to divert prying ears, but the Jedi was thankful for the buffer. Hopefully the space encouraged loose lips. Something of use to the Council was bound to slip.

By the time Obi-Wan had exchanged pleasantries with the senators seated around him, Anakin was kneeling beneath the table. Light from the world above caught his eyes and a dozen others. A multi-eyed beast of burden carrying on its back the reputation of its owners. In unison each guest was delivered a silver soup bowl, and each omega a silver basin. Their collective, sickening scent mixed with whatever perfumed liquid was in their dishes.

Anakin undid the wraps around Obi-Wan's legs, and slid off his shoes.

The alpha's body froze, but his eyes remained in constant movement, taking in the scene.

The omega countered this by keeping a fixed gaze while he ran his hands along the Jedi’s naked calves, down to his feet. He kneaded gently in tune with the other omegas. When time came to wet the patrons’ feet, Anakin wet his lips instead, and licked a hot line down Obi-Wan’s left sole; this clean shot was followed by exploding shrapnel ― the omega took each toe into his mouth and sucked. It was meant to seduce but came off like a starved man ― a starved  _ animal _ ― lusting over a meal. The shadows that defined his naked chest seemed to grow darker. The hollow of his collarbones harbored deep, black pools that cascaded down pronounced ribs. 

His eyes never left Obi-Wan’s, as if he was challenging to see who would submit first, cast their gaze elsewhere. 

Fire ignited in the alpha’s stomach, and raged in omega’s eyes. Blue sickened into a jaundiced yellow in the candlelight. 

An unoccupied hand snaked its way up Obi-Wan’s robes. 

_ Force _ . 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god didn't want me so i'm back from the dead
> 
> sorry for the quality dip in the writing/world building. still trying to slowly get back into the world. imma write dialogue SOON
> 
> i ended up abruptly splitting this chapter into two cuz i was just antsy to post what i had atm
> 
> also if anyone doesn't want to wait for chapter updates i have had the entire plot planned out for this fic since i began it ... so i could just post it down in the comments and call it a day? lol lmk
> 
> the action kicks off after this. plus an ahsoka appearance is coming <3


End file.
